


Night Terrors

by Remki



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-19
Updated: 2011-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-14 21:23:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/153596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Remki/pseuds/Remki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone on the SherlockBBC Kinkmeme posted a cracky prompt that Sherlock wets the bed. I took said crack!prompt and promptly made it short & angsty. Voila!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night Terrors

The sound of the washer downstairs hummed through the wall, little sounds of shaking metal and the thump of the machine on concrete filtering through the buildings’ drafty vent system. In a second, John was completely awake, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, his heart thumping wildly. In the dark he waited until his heart slowed and his sense of security reformed itself around him. It was the fourth time in five days that the sound of the washing machine had woke him up in the middle of the night. With a sigh, the doctor threw his comforter off and sat up. He pulled the ratty green robe from its place on his bedpost, and pulled it on before climbing wearily up and shuffling out his bedroom door. His body ached all over from a myriad of cuts and bruises, and his head began to pound from lack of sleep. He had left it alone the last three nights, but John could ignore the problem no longer; He would have to tell Sherlock to quit whatever experiment he was conducting with the washer, or at least pay for a hotel for John until he was done. After all that had happened in the last two weeks, at least one of them was going to get some decent sleep.

Down in the small room in the basement, John could see the light of the laundry room seeping out through a crack in the door. He walked gingerly toward it, and through the opening he saw Sherlock perched on a folding chair. His hair was wet and plastered to his neck and face, and there was a towel wrapped around his otherwise naked body. Under the harsh fluorescent light, John could make out goose bumps on the mans’ arms, as the chill of the basement settled in and stripped them both of warmth. In that moment, John had decided to turn around and go back to bed without saying anything, but Sherlock spoke before he could turn to leave.

“It’s alright John, you can come in.”

John didn’t have to ask how Sherlock had known he was there. He opened the door the rest of the way and stood in the doorway, one hand still on the knob, his eyebrows raised questioningly.

“Had an accident, have we?”

He had meant it as a way in to ask what Sherlock was doing, but Sherlock winced. A look of concern came across the doctors face, and he looked his friend up and down quickly, checking for any chemical burns or signs that Sherlock had made a mistake in his kitchen-cum-lab.

“You _didn’t_ have a lab accident, did you, Sherlock? I told you that you shouldn’t keep chemicals like-“ John started to say, when Sherlock cut him off.  
“Not a _lab_ accident, no.”

John tried to read the detectives expression, but Sherlocks’ gaze was fixed grimly on the front glass of the washing machine, following the swirl of colors and foam. Grey, green and white spun around each other like a strange muted kind of candy. John glanced between the other man and the machine, and in a moment recognition and understanding dawned on him.

“Don’t say it,” Sherlock said, before John could even open his mouth.

“Sherlock, I-”

“It’s just the dreams, John. I’ll have it under control soon. Sorry to have woke you.”

John stared hard at the other man. Anyone else would have said that Sherlock was unfazed and completely composed. But John had been around the detective enough to see the way his shoulders hunched just slightly, the way his lips were pursed in just a little tighter, and the faint trace of red on his exposed eartip. Sherlock was embarrassed, and he didn’t want John to know. Out of kindness, the doctor turned to leave. He paused, however, and looked back momentarily. In his minds eye, he saw another Sherlock, also dripping wet and suppressing shivers of cold and after effects as police scoured the ruined remains of the pool room for any signs of life or remains. John blinked, and the image was gone.

“I dream of it too, Sherlock.”

Sherlock didn’t look away from the swirling water, but John saw the tightness around his lips relax just a little. Just enough. The doctor pulled the door shut behind him, and went back to bed.


End file.
